


Not As We

by InkStainsOnMyHands



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angry Connor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Discussions of death, Insecurity, M/M, Not Beta Read, Post-Break Up, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 10:55:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15241851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkStainsOnMyHands/pseuds/InkStainsOnMyHands
Summary: Connor visits Hank post-break up.





	Not As We

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is my first foray into the Detroit: Become Human fandom. I hope you like this humble offering. I haven’t seen a break up fic yet, so here you go. Don’t worry, there’s a happy ending! 
> 
> Also, this was not beta read, so all mistakes are mine.

Connor shouldn’t have been so blindsided; relationships either lasted or they didn’t, and the likelihood of the former was much, much less than that of the latter. Yet, when Hank pulled him aside one night to announce that their courtship was over, Connor felt as if the very foundation of his reality fell beneath his feet.

 

Connor hadn’t understood then, and two weeks of wracking his hard drive for some relationship faux pas he commited or fatal flaw he possessed hadn’t clarified a _damn_ thing. It was part of the reason he stood in front of Hank’s door, to obtain some level of understanding - and to acquire the rest of his things, of course.

 

Connor rang the doorbell, if reluctantly. A small side of him wanted to turn back, crawl back into his taxi, and return to Markus’ place with his metaphorical tail between his legs. (Though, it would have been an awful waste of the effort North had put into picking out his outfit: a tight, black t-shirt and dark skinny jeans. It was, in her words, to “make Hank see what he’s missing.”)

 

After a handful of moments, Hank, clean and well-groomed, opened his front door. “H-hey,” he greeted with a shaking smile. He pivoted on his heel to allow Connor to walk through the threshold. “I’ll - uh - grab your stuff from the other room.”

 

Connor nodded wordlessly, focused on scanning his surroundings, even as Hank scurried into his bedroom. Slowly, with the careful steps of a doe in daylight, he made his way from the front room to the living room, where a basketball game and a half-eaten portion of dinner salad, sitting on the coffee table, awaited Hank. To Connor’s relief, he did not detect an open container of an alcoholic drink.  

 

Except, relief felt too much like dismay.

 

Connor had no desire for Hank to be miserable, surely, and he was glad to know the habits he instilled in his former lover had remained. But, his continued healthy lifestyle and manicured appearance confirmed Connor’s suspicions: Hank could be happy without him, possibly even happier.

 

Connor rubbed his hands together just before Hank appeared in the living room, cardboard moving box filled with the android’s only possessions in hand. No part of him required he breathe, yet he felt as if all the air had been sucked out of his being, leaving him burning for oxygen. The android’s gaze fell away from his ex-boyfriend, landing everywhere and anywhere that was not on his former counterpart.

 

Connor opened his arms in invitation; he felt Hank place his things gently within his grasp. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” Connor said, voice small and struggling. “I should be -”

 

Suddenly, with his sensors no longer preoccupied by extracting evidence of Hank’s condition, Connor realized which warm jazz song had been playing in the background, its chorus like a familiar warm blanket over his cold shoulders. An unwanted memory formed in the forefront of his mind; it was the last song they had danced to.

 

Chest tight and eyes heavy, Connor forced his lips to melt into a hesitant smile.

 

“Con - ?”

 

“I wish I would have known-” Connor murmured. Somewhere, from deep within, he pulled the audacity to peer up at Hank. The man, as always, looked so good; his soft, grey hair was pulled back into a bun, his thick lips were set into a straight line against the backdrop of a neat beard, and his piercing blue eyes stubbornly held onto an echo of affection for Connor. Something akin to a sob bubbled up from the growing hollowness in Connor’s chest cavity as he continued, “- that when we danced to this song, it would be the last time I would ever hold you like that. I would have savored it more.”

 

A stillness settled between them while something in Hank’s eyes flickered. After a few shared breaths, Hank took a step forward. With an uncharacteristic amount of tenderness, he retrieved the box from Connor and placed it on the floor beside them.

 

Hank swept Connor into his welcoming arms, and Connor could not have been more grateful for the opportunity to feel Hank’s hard chest against his cheek, to smell the heady scent of his cologne, to find comfort in his embrace just one more time. Connor closed his eyes to bask in the last moments of intimacy he would have with Hank.

 

Connor didn’t concentrate on the music, even as they swayed to the rhythm. Instead, all of his processing power was focused on the steady thumping of Hank’s heart - a heart that had once belonged to him, a heart he would never hear _like this_ again. A sigh stumbled out of his trembling lips; not for the first time, he longed to be numb, completely logical, if just to end the emptiness.

 

But, his heartache meant the capacity to feel emotion, to feel love. For that, he was thankful.

 

“All said and done, I appreciated the past seven months I had with you,” Connor whispered against Hank’s soft cotton t-shirt, his metaphorical soul overflowing with bittersweet emotion. His arms tightened around Hank’s back. “They were filled with a lifetime of joy for me, and I just hope you found our relationship as fulfilling as I have.”

 

“Of course I did,” Hank replied. “I was really happy.”

 

Connor smiled genuinely for the first time in fourteen days. To know Hank had been happy provided a balm for the sting that radiated from his core.

 

But, why had he stopped being happy?

 

“Hank, I-” Connor started.

 

Hank, haltingly, pulled away. Connor glanced up and met the intense, beautiful, blue eyes he had fallen so deeply in love with, even before he knew that was an emotion available to him.

 

In that moment, searching his gaze, Connor realized he didn’t need to understand _why_ Hank broke up with him. It was enough to know that at some point he stopped being happy and simply took a step in a positive direction, away from his previous self-destructive tendencies. Yes, it hurt he could no longer please him. However, it was more important that Hank wanted to find someone who could.

 

Possibly, someone unlike Connor, someone entirely _human_.

 

(Connor had the desperate, panicked urge to beg, plead, implore that Hank tell him what he did to make him unsatisfied with their relationship. If he just knew that, he could promise to do better. Connor wouldn’t let Hank down again.)

 

“Thank you,” Connor finished. “For everything.”

 

Too soon, the song ended, and Connor sprang up onto his tiptoes to place his lips upon Hank’s cheek one last time.

 

Then, far too quickly for Connor to process properly, Hank growled in a sudden show of carnal hunger, loomed over the shorter man, and devoured Connor’s lips in a molten kiss.

 

The situation spiraled out of control. Connor hadn’t the will or self-control to stop himself from returning the unbridled endearment shown to him. His hands grasped at the back of Hank’s neck, his tight hair, to pull him impossibly closer. In between animalistic snarls and sensual moans, they communicated what they wanted, what they needed.

 

Hank’s hands came to rest under the curve of Connor’s ass; the android knew what to do. Without breaking their kiss, he hopped, hooking his legs over Hank’s hips. Effortlessly, or so it seemed, Hank walked them into his bedroom.

 

Near the door, Hank pressed Connor against the wall with so much force it rattled. Large hands scrambled up Connor’s shirt to move the skin-tight fabric over his clavicle. Once exposed, Hank’s thumbs smoothed over Connor’s pectorals, reaching his small, pert nipples. Connor gasped into Hank’s mouth.

 

Hank used the momentary distraction to his advantage: his lips, tongue and teeth sought the synthetic skin of Connor’s neck. One bite had him whining for more; two weeks had been too damn long.

 

Silicone phallus already hard and aching from their brief foreplay, Connor pushed weakly against Hank’s shoulders to be absolutely clear of his intentions. The android fell back onto his feet gracefully as the human took a half-step back. In one fluid motion, the android removed his shirt.

 

“Bed,” Connor commanded while throwing his top to the ground. Hank gave a single nod.

 

Despite the urgency of Connor’s demand, both the human and android took the precious seconds required to disrobe completely. Connor swiftly scanned Hank to appreciate the hard lines of his shoulders and chest, and the soft planes of his inked torso, so unlike the bland flatness that made up the android. Connor didn’t have much time to feel insecure, however, as the two fell into bed a heartbeat later, Hank over Connor.

 

They resumed their earlier ministrations, mouths meeting in a hurried clash, similar to starved animals finally having a meal. Hands clutched at warm flesh with no preamble or destination, just a yearning to reach naked skin. The movement were so vigorous, the headboard rocked against its station, and they hadn’t truly started.

 

Hank disconnected from Connor, only to manipulate his legs and shift his pelvis, bringing them to an optimal position. One well-placed thrust, and Hank’s thick cock was sheathed inside Connor’s wet, tight, heat.

 

Connor tossed his head back and groaned; he would never get used to the feeling of being _full,_ stuffed to the brim and stretched to his limit. Hank was so big it seemed as if his dick were permanently placed over the nerve plate inside him. With each undulation of Hank’s hips, he stimulated the sensors there, wrenching Connor’s reactions from him easily. The android clutched at the sheets, writhed beneath Hank, and all but screamed, powerless to prevent the oncoming tidal wave of pleasure from crashing over him as he was used.

 

Connor didn’t want this to end so soon, not while he couldn’t concentrate on it, memorize it, keep it in the shadows of his memory for times of loneliness. Regardless, Hank orchestrated his body so well, too well, and he came undone in a matter of minutes, pulling Hank into the undertow alongside him with his contracting hole.

 

It did not take long for Hank to roll over, exhausted, and breathe heavily beside Connor. “Con’, I - uh,” he choked out.

 

Connor shook his head. Hank’s tone was the same as the one he used that terrible night two weeks ago. Connor couldn’t bear to hear it a second time. “I have no misgivings about what this was, Hank.”

 

Hank nodded. “You can still stay the night, though. If you want. Obviously, you don’t have-”

 

Connor turned on his side, towards Hank, interrupting him. “I want to stay.”

* * *

 

They talked, reminisced, laughed, and shed a few tears. Connor was bewildered by Hank’s emotions at times, seemingly saddened by something he, himself, wrought, but Connor knew human emotions were complicated, nonsensical at times. It was evident in the way Hank held him like he was precious, though he would soon throw him out.

 

At six in the morning, Connor wiped at his damp cheeks in preparation for his “walk of shame” back to Markus’ home.

 

Connor knew Hank watched him intently as he pulled on his discarded clothes. Hank’s conflicting body language, arms crossed but head tilted towards Connor, communicated something the android could not quite understand. Connor contemplated asking whether or not he should really leave, if there was more that was left unsaid, but just as he opened his mouth, Hank sighed. “Wait.”

 

Connor paused, frozen, hopeful.

 

Hank looked away. “I need to tell you the truth, about why I - I did what I did. I owe you that much.”

 

Connor gave a single nod in his direction.  

 

Hank wiped a hand down his face. He sat up. Without taking his palm away from his mouth, he continued, “I couldn’t stand the thought of you being by yourself once I died.” He released his mouth from his own grasp. Much clearer, he continued, “I thought, maybe, if I said I didn’t love you anymore, that, I don’t know, you’d find someone new and live your life. Forget about me.”

 

The heat of Connor’s unexpected fury burned the back of his neck, his hands, his chest, everywhere. What? What!? Connor spent the last two weeks in abject misery because this utter _moron_ decided to be some kind of self-deprecating martyr!? Connor hadn’t known the extent of how upset he could possibly be until that moment; he ran a diagnostic on the off chance Hank awakened some sort of bug in his social relations program.

 

Nope, it checked out. Hank was, in reality, that much of an asshole.

 

“Look, I’m sorry, I didn't know what else to do. Every time I brought it up, you just -”

 

“What? Told you I made my decision? That I wanted to be with you even if I had a longer lifespan?” Connor growled. It was then that he realized the horrifying implication of what Hank had done. With venom, he spat, “But, I’m an android so I must not know any better, right?”

 

“What…? Connor - ”

 

“Save it!” Connor shouted. He pointed a crooked finger at his own chest. “I didn’t agree with you, so instead of respecting my decision, you enforced your will onto me! You’re treating me like an android, not like a person, Hank.”

 

“Don’t you fucking dare!”  Hank reciprocated with his own snarl. He leapt from the bed, landing near where his boxers and sweatpants cluttered the floor. With a startling amount of brashness, he dressed himself, all-the-while his righteous glare never strayed from Connor. “I risked my life so you could call yourself a person.”

 

“So!?” Connor countered wetly, overcome with sorrow and wrath. “What good is my right to be a person when the man I love doesn’t respect my decisions? When he hurts me because he’s too self-centered to think about how I would feel?”

 

“And what about my decisions?” Hank replied. He approached Connor with heavy, thudding steps. “Huh? What about my feelings? How do you think it makes me feel knowing that if you get yourself in too deep with me, you’ll be grieving for a hundred years?”

 

Huh?

 

Hundred years?

 

Where had that come from?

 

Bemusement chased away Connor’s anger, if only momentarily. “Now’s not the time for hyperbole, Hank. We’re having a serious conversation.”

 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

 

“You made a joke,” Connor snapped. At Hank’s tight expression, Connor continued, “Please, Hank. You just said I’d have to mourn you for a hundred years -”

 

The lines of Hank’s visage shifted; he appeared pained. “You saying you’d get over me just like that, then? If that’s the case, why’re you-”

 

Connor put his hand up to stop Hank’s tirade. “No, I would grieve for the rest of my life, Hank, of course I would, but the rest of my life isn’t a hundred years.”

 

“It’s not?” Hank blinked owlishly at Connor.

 

Connor, despite himself, snorted. “No, Hank, without major replacements, I have another forty years, if I’m kept in optimal condition. And, police work is definitely not optimal.”

 

“Well, there you go,” Hank said, as if he were making some point, much to Connor’s continued chagrin. His hands gestured wildly. “You wouldn’t repair yourself to live longer.”

 

Connor shook his head, but couldn’t quite rid himself of the amused grin stretching his lips. “That has nothing to do with you. I don’t want to keep repairing myself until I’ve completely replaced the android I have become. A lot of us feel that way.”

 

A pregnant pause stifled the air, broken only when Hank asked,“So, you’re saying you’re just going to die?”

 

“Someday, yes, and probably not long after you have.”

 

Hank nodded, expression dropping a little more with every inclination of his head. “I’ve been an idiot, haven’t I?”

 

“Yes, but not for the reason you think,” Connor insisted. Frustration made a home for itself within the android again. With some amount of bite, he answered the silent question hanging in the air, “It doesn’t matter if I live to be a thousand. You should have respected my decision when I said I wanted to be with you, as long as you reciprocated those feelings. If not, you should have been honest with me from the very beginning.”

 

“You’re right,” Hank sighed. The man visibly sagged; he appeared similar to a punch-drunk boxer resting against his arena’s ropes. “But, to be clear, I was treating you like a kid, not like a machine.”

 

“Fine,” Connor relented with a small chuckle. (Connor had no such intention of letting the concept go, but he was far too relieved and elated to pursue it further, for the time being.) He held his arms out. “Just hold me and promise you won’t break up with me for something that stupid ever again.”

 

Hank took the invitation and scooped Connor into his embrace, holding him so tightly the android’s joints squeaked in protest. “I promise,” he whispered against the crown of his head. After several seconds, Hank added, with a murmur, “Kind of presumptuous to assume we’re back together.”

 

“Shut up, Hank.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos validate my existence, please and thank you.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @faequill.


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